lovely girl
by tailoredsuit
Summary: Now one and eight Ayra Stark is back- flung into the game of thrones once more. But Ayra is not alone. She has Jaqen. Ayra returns to a world she long forgot and struggles to comprehend it all esspecially her feelings for a certain man with red and white hair. Future/fic -other pairings too.
1. Chapter 1

**None of Game of Thrones belongs to me. Contains explicit content, not actual sex but indications and swearing.**

Alenca shifted her position on the man's lap, his eyes were screwed shut in pleasure as she rocked against him and a loud groan passed the man's lips. For the two their moans would not be heard through the padded walls, the room itself was a myriad of deep reds that burned in the dim light and light pinks to match the flesh of the young women who graced the pleasure barges of Braavos.

The private room was a mixture of silk and velvet, a large feather bed was placed in the middle of the room. It was huge. Opaque drapes dripped from the ceiling in the Westerosi style of the pleasure houses.

The woman's hair cascaded down her back the colour was almost orange and freckles dotted her pale cheeks, it made her seem much younger than her one and eight years. It was why she was popular with the clients; it made her seem more innocent. Even her eyes of almond colouring screamed "I'm a maiden!" when any illiterate lowlife could see she had probably been fucked a million times.

A window was open to allow some air into the room but both occupants were slick with sweat and the sweltering heat of Braavos only intensified as the man groped the woman.

Alenca pressed her lips to the man's and his tongue was jammed down her throat, sucking on her lips. The woman released low moan though her face betrayed her true feelings. It was tight with disgust and only lessened once the man stiffened.

His eyes snapped open to rest on the woman. The whore stood, slipping off the man's lap as his face turned purple then blue, then back to its original colouring. His mouth opened and a hand swiftly covered it as a strangled cry attempted to escape, his face was transfixed in horror as a numbness twisted in his bowls, and the woman trailed her other hand down his cheek, her fingers released the tension locking his face in one of pain and his mask of horror softened and relaxed as her fingers trailed over his stubble.

Placing her hand on both sides of the dying man the woman leaned into his ear "Valar Morghulis" she whispered, then he died. His face was passive as Alenca pulled up her fine robe of silk draping it back over her shoulders and covering her breasts with the material, a cloak swiftly covered the finery.

Alenca took a second to look at the body and then disappeared. Alenca the whore was then merely a ghost, a mirage of someone who once was…

Now No-one slid through the twisting passages of Braavos a cloak billowing behind her despite the heat. Nobody noticed the slight form as it travelled through the bustling streets. Noise flared from every direction covering the sound of no-one's footsteps, not that it was needed, the streets could be silent and she would still not be heard.

With a clear familiarity No-one entered the house of black and white; she was instantly faced by a man with dark locks, and dark eyes, "Is it done?" the man asked, it irritated No-one that she was being questioned.

She completed her training to work for the faceless god more than a year before yet he still treated her like a child, No-one attempted to slide past the man ignoring his question.

She flinched and let out a small growl of irritation as he grabbed her arm, when she turned to face the man almond eyes did not meet his dark ones but grey ones. The face was plain but it still resembled a girl that used to be. A girl who died years ago, a girl who dreamed of wolves and water dancing. The man's jaw clenched.

"It is done" no-one said through gritted teeth.

"Who are you?" the man asked in a low voice, pulling her so they were inches away from each other

"no-one" she replied sharply her eyes dead set. She did not lie.

The man released his grip and No-one stormed away.

Jaqen H'ghar, she still named him, it was not his true name but to her it was true enough. He changed his face but she knew him more than most, he could tell who she was whatever disguise she wore and vice versa.

He had come to her to help her complete her training, and that he had, that was three years ago, when she had seen him for the first time after years of preparation after _he_ had sent her to the house of black and white she did not rush to him as she once might have at the age of one and two, but instead slapped him. _Hard_. The now grown woman smiled at that thought. It was a sweet recollection.

He had trained her in everything she now knew. According to him all she had learned was wrong, so she relearned. He was softer to her than to others but he worked her hard. He taught her how to use everything to her best advantage, as she grew from a girl to a woman he taught her to use her femininity to suit her own needs and the ways to charm people, or to combine both; to charm people with her femininity.

The lessons she recalled with most detail were the ones on the art of seduction.

Goosebumps raised on her arms as she walked quickly through a corridor with at least twenty different doors. At first she had been awkward and violent. But Jaqen could teach, and he taught her well. It was unusual. When Jaqen touched her she did not feel violated and she cherished the feeling of her body pressed flush against his.

She didn't understand why it was so different with others. Of all the jobs she had done where she was required to use her _femininity_ to get close to her assignments she broke slightly. It disgusted her; with Jaqen she did not feel disgusted. But everyone else…

It was then finally that she managed to make it to the baths. Steaming water rose from the hot pools and she sank into the water discarding her robes on the floor. Despite the heat she shivered in the water.

Three months she had been working on this lord, she had gathered information and the only time he was without company of a burly bodyguard was at the pleasure houses, but he had favourites. It took _three months_ to weasel herself into that category. Now he was dead.

She had hated every moment of it, from the sleazy customers who came on the barge with fat purses, to the bitches that were the other whores, always competing. No-one scrubbed herself until she was pink and her skin raw, but she still felt dirty and her salty tears added to the cooling bath. Her body betrayed her thoughts and she wanted to just submerge herself in the water.

"A lovely girl should not cry" a voice spoke

"A girl died a long time ago; I am a woman now" no-one answered unabashed as Jaqen stepped into her view, she knew he had been there

"the girl may not be a girl any more but still she is lovely" Jaqen answered, no-one stood up, almost reluctantly Jaqen offered her a robe of black and white similar to one he bore. She pulled it over her head and looked up at Jaqen. He took a step towards her and swept her into an embrace.

After a too long a time no-one remembered a girl she used to be. She remembered brothers and a sister, she remembered parents and wolves. She remembered Ayra Stark of Winterfell. Almost reading her thoughts Jaqen whispered to her "that child is gone my lovely girl, you are a servant of the faceless god now- _Valar Dohaeris"_ They stood like that for a while, both wrapped in their own thoughts, eventually no-one broke the silence "I will go" she whispered

"I know lovely girl" he responded his eyes sad

"You will not come" she said, it was a statement more than a question. Jaqen had devoted himself to the many faced God, he could not leave.

His silence answered her question and when they broke the embrace Jaqen was looking at Ayra Stark. She was not the child he first saw, no longer could she be mistaken for a boy she was small but she had a woman's body. He knew that.

They made their way to the front entrance, there were many doors which they could take which would draw less attention but Jaqen was content to just be led by the hand to see Ayra Stark one last time.

A figure slunk out the shadows and Ayra nodded to her old teacher as she passed he mouthed the words and she mouthed them back a solemn understanding between them. Ayra retraced her path from years ago and dislodged one of the steps dropping Jaqen's hand to retrieve Needle. When Ayra retook Jaqen's hand he was how she first saw him the red hair with the white on one side. She smiled and Jaqen answered with a smirk.

"Valar Morghulis" Ayra said

"Valar Dohaeris" Jaqen replied quietly. Ayra reached up and pressed a light kiss to his lips. It was chaste, but lovely.

With that Ayra turned away from Jaqen, from the house of black and white and from years of work, and then Ayra smiled. She was a wolf once again.

Jaqen watched her disappear, his lovely girl, then without a glimpse backward… he followed.

He left his God and followed Ayra Stark. He followed her without a second thought and he had no idea why.

**Reviews are welcome, no flames please.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Game of thrones belongs to George RR. Martin. Valar Morghulis.**

Jaqen and Ayra picked their way through the streets of Braavos, besides from the clothes on their backs, two daggers earned by all faceless men and Ayra's needle, the pair had no possessions, money or valuables. They no longer bore the black and white robes the faceless men wore but instead stole away some breeches and tunics.

Luckily for the two they were faceless men...

Leaving the house of black and white did not mean that they lost their skills; they could change their faces and slip almost anywhere unnoticed still.

It was with these gifts that Ayra found herself pushing through the crowds of the bustling main square of Braavos, Jaqen followed closely behind.

Men at stalls screamed in a sea of different languages, from the harsh tosh language to the fast high Valerian. Ayra slipped out her dagger and subtly slit one man's purse as she walked past, her face passive giving nothing away, no hint of the now hidden dagger.

The clink of gold falling to the floor was non-existent as Jaqen slipped a bag under the hole in the purse and the money plopped quietly into his pouch, then he and Ayra were gone and the victim none the wiser.

This mummer's act had been played many a time before and the pair pulled it off with practiced ease.

Jaqen weighed the coins in his hand considering a break from the blaring heat; he scanned the crowd for Ayra to see a slick handsome man selling roses placing one in her hand a charming smile painted on his face.

Jaqen scowled unknowingly and made his way over to the pair a forced smile breaking onto his face "a lovely rose for a lovely girl" Jaqen said pinching the rose from Ayra's small hand.

Jaqen's voice was light but his eyes cold as he slid his arm round Ayra protectively.

"I agree and a most lovely rose indeed" the salesmen said smiling falsely

"Thank you for the flower" Ayra said reaching for a coin and not too subtly stepping on Jaqen's foot, his face remained the plastered smile.

Ayra was not one to waste money on flowers but the man had information from across the sea, his tongue told Ayra of home and she was ready to punch Jaqen for being so blind as to her true motives.

"No no no" the salesmen objected "like the man said a lovely rose for a lovely girl- I could not possibly make you pay" Ayra smiled and Jaqen's face turned to stone.

Jaqen all but dragged Ayra away from the smug man, dropping the crumpled rose to the ground.

He knew he could not take his life; the red god did not want it. Damn him.

Once they were out of sight of the salesmen Ayra jabbed Jaqen "don't be such a child" Ayra seethed her smiling pretence dropped

"A man is not a child but the silly girl is" Ayra yanked him down an empty shaded passageway cornering him against a wall

"I am not a silly girl because one man cannot face being a jealous bastard" Jaqen bumped against the wall of a building the stone digging in his back "it is not my fault a man cannot see!" her face loomed closer to Jaqen's "it is not my fault that you were behaving like an absolute ass!" she spat her words at Jaqen snarling slightly before she turned to storm off.

Fuck. Jaqen thought.

Ayra stormed away her swirl of emotions eclipsed her senses so when the windows opened above her she took no notice.

"Silly girl" Jaqen muttered as he grabbed Ayra's arm pulling her to his chest and pulling her from beneath the window, entrails splatted in front of them yellow acids pooling at the bottom of impact. Ayra wanted to vomit; she gagged and swallowed down hot bile.

A beefy man above them screamed abuse at them for standing where he dumped the butcher's leftovers. Now Ayra looked she saw the alleyway with no rash anger blinding her and noticed the traces of rotting meat almost everywhere. No wonder it was empty.

The stench made her eyes water and the two raced out the alley spluttering but smiling.

"Does a girl not owe a man thanks for stopping cow guts from ruining her lovely face" Jaqen said with a smirk.

Ayra paused before answering "no" turning to face Jaqen and another pause "but a _woman_ will give a man forgiveness for being an absolute shite" there was a second of stillness where they looked at each other, Ayra thought he would lean in a kiss her but then both their smiles broke and nervous laughter filed the silence, all was forgiven… but not forgot.

They continued their _work_ until Jaqen had a heavy purse brimming with coin and the streets were occupied by only drunkards returning home and the odd whore looking for a late night client.

When weariness of hours in the hot sun overrode their sense of urgency to keep moving they bought a room at a nearby inn, it was nothing to boast; it smelt of shit and the straw beds were scratchy and worn.

Ayra thought back to a time she rested her head on featherbeds and had- though reluctantly- bathed in steaming rosewater.

Ayra shook her head, ridding herself from those thoughts and turning her attention to Jaqen. For a while she stared at him and his face, remembering, Jaqen felt her stare and a deep questioning thrum rumbled from his throat, signalling her to talk.

Ayra took the noise as a go ahead "Why did…-do- you wear that face?"

Jaqen looked up "a man must wear a face"

"But why that face"

His lips quirked as he forced back a smile "a man has his reasons"

Ayra huffed despite his closure of the conversation she pressed on "I've seen you with other faces but always that face; you always go back to it" Ayra stopped herself mentioning how he always chose young faces when he saw her, none repulsive but none specifically attractive.

"A girl asks too many questions" Jaqen finally replied and caught the stained pillow as it came hurtling towards him casting a smirk at Ayra who now wore an exasperated expression.

As a faceless man you are no-one and no-one has no emotions. Your face is a mask; he had never truly gotten to see the side of Ayra where she could openly show her emotions so…vividly.

After a few minutes of silence Jaqen got up from an old wooden chair he sat on slipping off his cloak before climbing into the same bed as Ayra, neither had taken off their footwear. They were prepared.

Ayra turned to face Jaqen "what are you doing" she questioned a grin forming on her lips

"A man must sleep must he not" Jaqen answered his eyes narrowing in suspicion; she was going to do something.

"Well then a man can sleep elsewhere" she said kicking Jaqen from the slight comfort of the bed.

He landed on the floor with a thump, startled. A rare thing for a faceless man, or a man who once was what he cannot be no longer.

Ayra shot him a smug grin before she rolled away so she faced away from him.

Jaqen chuckled to himself using his cloak to make a pillow on the floor, a wise decision as to not push the young wolf.

Neither of the two snored so Ayra could not tell if Jaqen was sleeping, she resisted the urge to roll about in frustration. Even at night the heat stuck to her body like a second skin but Ayra knew it was not the Braavosi warmth which was the source of her discomfort. It was the fact Jaqen H'ghar was lying on the floor and not in the same bed as her.

She had no doubt that if he _were_ with her she would still be unable to sleep and she would be even more irritable, nevertheless she yearned for it.

Ayra resisted the urge to huff. She had never had this much time to think when she was no-one, now memories flooded back and thoughts swelled in her mind.

As no-one her nights were dreamless and her days full of work. As Ayra her head was filled to the brim with ideas, notions and worst of all emotions.

It was then as she stared at the low ceiling she realised Ayra stark had grown up too fast, she had been flung into the game of thrones early on and was soon on her own.

Ayra stark had died many a time but she was always Ayra underneath her masks, she had been 'arry, Ayra Horseface and many more. Names she had used, Ayra had been a boy and no-one but always Ayra beneath each skin.

Like how Jaqen to her was always Jaqen.

She first saw Jaqen as 'arry at the tender age of twelve, he gave her three names. She had not realised it but by saving him she had broken not just a cage but unleashed a number of events which would forever determine her fate. He had saved her not just from physical allies but from herself.

She had known Jaqen as no-one, as 'arry but most importantly Ayra.

She loved her family more than life itself but she had lost them at some point. Ayra hated herself for not remembering anything but vague blurs; Jaqen had been a constant throughout the worst times in her life, an anchor to grip to in times of need, he seemed to her as the last thing left, it was only him who had not abandoned her.

Ayra drifted away, walking on the tightrope that was sleep, as one of the faceless men she need be only close her eyes and she would fall asleep.

She had exulted when she became a faceless man, faceless women were not unique but they were uncommon, they had other _assets_ which they could use to their advantage, it was those _assets_ that broke her. She was Eddard Stark's daughter; she had honour, as did all the Starks.

Every job, every employment made no-one's mask crack until it was a myriad of scars worse than the hound's, soon it broke and Ayra stark, pale as death but not dead could see again, her mask broken at her feet.

What still remained concealed to her was the knowledge every time she drowned in tears as Ayra, Jaqen H'ghar cried too. Both wept for things they could not remember.

However, all was hidden, because faceless men are merely masks and masks can't cry.

What Ayra did know was she shared something with Jaqen, perhaps it was a hidden guilt, she had forced him to tear himself away from his god, and she made him follow her. In truth the only valuable each truly possessed were each other, and even then what broken valuables they were.

Ayra let tears slip down her face for the first time in years, she had lost her family, her wolf, and even Jaqen was lost to her sometimes. Regret lingered in his eyes when he believed her to be not looking. Every touch chained her; she tied him tighter to her every time they brushed past each other.

The truth was Ayra didn't understand. Fluent in many a language skilled with all breeds of weaponry yet Ayra did not understand.

She did not truly know where to turn; Jaqen was a reminder of how she failed so much. She was Ayra stark that she knew, but some small part of her missed being no-one.

Then she remembered the killing, the poison on her lips as she kissed bastards she wished so much to stab with a hundred daggers. Not all jobs were one of _them _sort but still killing another being no matter how much deserving was a toll. You could never overcome murder but simply be more attuned to enduring it.

Through all these thoughts was some answer to why Jaqen was not lying next to her but on the dusty floor, but Ayra was lost and she searched through her mind unsuccessfully.

When she did fall into a fitful sleep, Ayra stark of Winterfell started to heal, and for the first time after too long…dreamt of wolves.

**Thank you to all reviewers especially **_**lalyta8**_** for first review and to **_**anonymous**_** sorry for not making it clearer but it was poison not asphyxiation that killed the man, Ayra swallowed an antidote so it wouldn't affect her.**

**Okay, a bit more action next time, this chapter was used to really show where each character stands. Currently there is little to no romance- it will exceed. This is because love is forbidden as faceless men and also reminding you Ayra was taken away very young so she herself never experienced anything truly akin to love besides from that of her family, she only understands due to her teaching, she still only really grasps the concept of the physical side of love.**

**I will try to keep to weekly updates. Please read and review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I apologise greatly for the delay, I will update faster and this time I will not promise anything which I cannot keep. Valar Morghulis.**

It was a simple task for Ayra and Jaqen to attain passage to Westeros.

They had a heavy purse so they could buy off most captains, and the shine of a dragon made smiles flow in hundreds and sweetened words flooded their ears.

It was a mummer's farce in both opinions but they too smiled falsely and praised the arrogant captain's ad their ships. The duo could stow away if they were truly desperate...

The only problem was how winter descended late on Braavos and the free cities, it was common knowledge the wind of winter had risen in the seven kingdoms and it now rained snow and ash.

Many ships avoided Westeros, the war was won but there was a broken kingdom to fix, Ayra closed her ears and eyes to the news, she would not face the truth. Yet.

The first attempt at getting passage across the narrow sea resulted in the loss of two limbs, neither of which were the pairs. Ayra did not take kindly to a randy captain trying to grope her hence the loss of the arm, and Jaqen hated only the thought of someone even touching her. There went the foot.

It had therefore been Jaqen who handled the captains with false sweetness and easy charm.

Eventually they found upon a barge exporting goods to Westeros the _cheyao_. It was a Dothraki name but a Braavos ship, according to the captain it was famed for transporting horses and his father had deemed it appropriate to name it after a dark bay horse in the Dothraki tongue.

Ayra had marvelled at the vastness of the ship its sails rose high in the air and the proud mares were loaded in holding. Over twenty were loaded onto the ship, each of them magnificent, at least ten would die.

The horses took Ayra back to remembering Stranger; the hound's horse. Even to her current time she had never seen a fairer mare. Its sheer loyalty was astonishing and Ayra hated the horse for it, she hoped the beast was dead along with the hound.

Now Ayra stroked along one of the more humble mounts mane, he was named Wolfe for the young dead king of the north.

Ayra had not thought of the Starks or Robb's death for that matter, she had buried the death deep within her and the simple bay horse made her crack. Ayra had punched Jaqen when he told her the meaning of the name; she had screamed and even attempted to kill the horse.

Now Ayra found an unusual solace with the animal and found herself taking him from the hold daily to give him his exercise, there were much finer on board the ship but Ayra felt this was the strongest out of all.

The horse bumped Ayra's shoulder and she swatted it away, Wolfe gave an irritated humph.

She had been trapped on the boat for almost two weeks and after her mental breakdown she had locked herself away only leaving to make water and see to Wolfe. She closed herself off and even Jaqen's gentle coaxing wasn't enough, she was immune to his smiles and soft spoken words.

The sea was calm and there was only the steady sound of the hull dipping into the water, sailors basking in the glowing sun and an odd horse whickering to the ship.

A boat was a lonely thing and Ayra had only herself to talk to, she analysed and assessed everything with the mind of a faceless man.

She had come out of her stupor tree days prior but shame over her childishness overrode her sense to apologise and be civil. It had been a long time since she had the privilege to act like a petulant child. She could not deny Sansa was far worse but in retrospect as a child Ayra had been no angel.

Eddard Stark had brought his children up with the best of care but each child had their own will.

Everyone had different aspects, there was Jon who was solemn but brilliant, Robb who was strong and fair, Sansa was caring in her own way, and in fact Ayra had to grudgingly admit she was smart if not for her naivety. Bran was up in the clouds but determined and baby Rickon, Ayra hated that she did not get to see her youngest brother grow up but he mirrored Ayra in his wildness at least that she knew.

As it was inevitable when one thinks of a Stark they see the wolves. Ayra remembered Nymeria, she was alive that she knew but she was wild. Two of her sibling's wolves were dead, whether their owners were she could not be certain.

Ayra had vomited when she overheard a grisly account off the young wolfs head being taken off and true to his name having grey winds head stitched on to replace Robb's. Jaqen had kept her hair from her face and rubbed soothing circles on her back, she swore at him. Another thing to apologise for.

It was with a grudging difference Ayra decided to seek out Jaqen.

Returning Wolfe to the hold Ayra searched out her unfortunate accomplice. He was at the bow of the ship, despite the journey he remained immaculate and Ayra felt the urge to trail her hands through his hair. She quickly dismissed the thought and proceeded to his side.

She knew he had noticed her presence but his eyes stayed firmly on the darkening horizon.

They stayed like that side by side in solemn silence for a few minutes until Ayra broke the silence

"I'm sorry" Ayra finally said, unlike the lies she told as a child there was truth and meaning behind her words. Jaqen turned to face her and for a moment she thought he would embrace her. However, instead he opened his stupid mouth

"Even a girl as lovely as you must do more to appease a man" Ayra glared at him.

Jaqen did not see it coming even with the pre-emptive curl of her lips; Jaqen had no time to prepare and did not expect her to kiss him.

It was practised but new despite the times they had kissed before. But before was for teaching, now was _different_. Jaqen felt her hands grip is hair but his hands stayed by his side in shock. His lips moved with hers and as he raised his hands to pull her closer she drew back.

With a light shove he was pushed against the railing

"Has a girl done enough?" Ayra whispered. She had acted on impulse and was unsure whether she regretted it and chose to await Jaqen's reaction.

Jaqen's face was unreadable.

To save face she turned on her heel to walk away and was called to a halt

"A girl is forgiven" Ayra smiled and then walked to the cabin to get some sleep.

It was a further two weeks on the ship until they landed in Westeros.

Ayra had used the time to remove the stigma around her name and the false image of the mental girl.

She befriended the shipmates and became a popular member aboard the ship. She charmed men with her fierceness and her uncanny ability to say more curses than most men in almost every tongue known.

The ship harboured at the bay of crabs near maiden pool, it wasn't a big port so there was a lot of attention drawn to their cargo. Ayra had wanted to return to Winterfell, she knew it was a wreck but she had to see her home, but Jaqen persisted they go to kings landing.

Ayra's insistence to not know what had happened in her time away was taking its toll. Jaqen had to tiptoe around the subject of current events; he was desperate for her not to relapse into her depression.

The horses were being transported to kings landing and the owner a Braavosi man named Eli was the lead of the party.

They would travel with the cargo until the two crossroads leading to Kings landing. Jaqen and Ayra would travel through Duskendale but the horses would move along the coastal road.

Traveling with the host was relaxing, as they were transporting horses they could ride instead of walk.

Ayra was in stitches at Jaqen's awkwardness on a horse. He was wary of the animal and it was refreshing to see Jaqen not comfortable with something. He was capable enough but he was not very proficient.

"When you were in Tywin's army didn't you have to ride?" Ayra asked riding up next to him

"A man _can_ ride"

"Not well" Ayra pointed out, Jaqen turned away

"A man no matter how charming is still a sore loser" Ayra teased at Jaqen's expense.

They journeyed for Maiden pool from the bay and stayed in a mediocre inn.

Once more Jaqen and Ayra shared a room. Winter fell heavy on Westeros and fires were lit all around, winds picked up and all were grateful for the gentle solace of a warm inn and a roof beneath their heads. Snow built up and snowed in the host for two extra days than planned.

It was within those days that Jaqen approached Ayra on a topic both had dreaded. Ayra was sat cross-legged on the floor by the fire. She was attempting to find Nymeria but it seemed impossible for her to connect. She heard Jaqen as he slipped inside.

He sat down next her and Ayra reached out and entwined her fingers with is.

"You have to tell me don't you" Ayra said shuffling closer to Jaqen

"Yes my lovely girl"

"First tell me if their all dead, all my family, are they gone?"

"No your sister lives as do your three brothers"

"Jaqen Bran and Rickon are dead your wrong" Jaqen touched her cheek and turned her face so she was looking him in the eye.

"Your brothers live I am not mistaken" Ayra took a second to take in that two of her brothers had come back from the dead.

Ayra flung her arms around Jaqen burying her heading his neck. It was the start of a long night which involved throwing things, crying, shouting and overwhelming joy. Yet still Ayra and Jaqen had limited knowledge.

They only had words from others and all they truly knew was that a dragon queen had come and Azor Ahai reborn was not the cold faced king but someone with long claws and a face of snow and ice.

She learned of the death of Petyr Baelish and the dagger which her sister had flung into his heart. She learned of the fall of house Lannisters. She learned many things but it all seemed to give her more questions than anything.

The fire embers glowed faintly in the late night. Ayra was drained physically and mentally.

Jaqen had been given the brunt force of her emotions and was exhausted but watched with fascination at Ayra's face her eyes were heavy and their hands were still interlocked.

Jaqen felt something for Ayra but he didn't want admit to it. For her he had become Jaqen H'ghar, he had been her teacher, her friend, her enemy even her lover but never had she been _his_.

Now that was all he wanted.

**Please read & review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for any mistakes in grammar/spelling. Sincerely apologise for delay but cannot promise anything. Valar Morghulis.**

Jaqen was a man of patience; he had an infuriating amount of it in fact. Often it was ironic how much Jaqen's patience could drive other men to lose theirs so quickly.

However, patience was not the case when there was a man leaned up close to Arya. Jaqen was desperate to rid himself of the host; he had not made it his obligation to socialize with the crew unlike Arya, who by their eventual harbouring knew everyone's life stories off by heart.

It was through his lack of interest to charm his peers he found himself chained to Arya for company. They had been on the road and as a man of the free cities the cold was unbearable. Arya was a summer child yet she seemed to belong in the high winds and snow. Her grey eyes mirrored the sky's dim glow and Jaqen's exotic appearance marked him indefinitely.

Even in Pentos where they dyed their hair blues and greens he would be looked at twice. That was, only if he wanted to though.

Jaqen found himself often wondering what he was like in the start. Unlike Arya who despite becoming no-one still managed to retain some of _Arya, _Jaqen had no recollection of his original self.

Jaqen H'ghar was not his true name, but it was enough. Enough for Arya.

The problem he now encountered was due to Jaqen's disregard of his fellows that he did not realise a threat. Jaqen was forced to concede that the man was handsome, but he disliked the way his hands reached towards Arya, and his dark eyes glittered like black diamonds when she turned in a way to show some bust.

So it was with dark eyes Jaqen had watched from a distance drinking the cleanest water they could provide, ale inhibited his senses and it was with great amusement for him when Arya ordered a mug of milk.

It was then the _Florian_ with the eyes and hands swooped in leaving Jaqen to brood alone. The pair would split off soon and it was with gritted teeth Jaqen witnessed the man offer Arya her beloved horse, Wolfe.

It was to this Jaqen swept in depositing a sack of coins in the boy's hand, speaking with a smile of nothing but cold, that could rival the very winter "we'll take two. Thank you" Arya glared.

Jaqen smiled.

The man shifted uncomfortably before the rest of Arya's acquaintances gathered her up and said their goodbyes. A fool who did the heavy lifting on deck was the only one brave or more likely dumb enough to approach the stoic man. Jaqen flashed a small smile to the gentle giant who walked away smiling too after received acceptance of his farewell.

The winds were rising and snowfall began again, Jaqen was thankful for the excuse to hurry up the goodbyes, Jaqen was given pathetic thing of a horse.

It was with ill-concealed annoyance Jaqen was forced to decline the horse and buy one of the better suited stallions with his gold, Arya named it rude within the second they turned to get the beast.

Jaqen would have argued his case, however feeble it was, but she was soon swept up once more in hugs and well wishes. Arya was blissfully unaware of Jaqen's jealousy and put it down to him just being a bastard.

Once they were out of sight Jaqen breathed easy, it was just the two of them. Jaqen's breathe constricted; it was just the two of them. Suddenly Jaqen felt hot despite the desperate chill which seeped through the whole of Westeros.

Silence stretched before the pair as they rode, the only noises came from the violent wind or the braying horses. Arya's stubbornness made poor company and any attempt at conversation was quickly silenced with an icy tongue.

The howling winds did not soothe the tear between them either as any plea of forgiveness fell on deaf ears. They had planned to ride to an inn, _the maiden's skirt,_ but weather seemed to have forsaken them, snow piled high and the horses shivered beneath their riders.

Jaqen moved his horse towards Arya's and beckoned towards the sky and a narrow road which could possibly lead to shelter. Even through anger Arya understood the cold, old Nan had told her many stories. Together they swerved off the main road, aware the now almost blizzard was rising.

The snow fell slower through the trees but the wind still cried drunkenly.

Jaqen thanked the Gods when Arya signalled to a well hidden jut in the snow, what seemed to be a rough cave loomed through a slight clearing. A crags overhang made a perfect place for the horses, they protested slightly but Jaqen only glared at the animals.

A deceptively small opening in the cave led to a large cavern type shelter, they couldn't light a fire due to the smoke but the wind was silenced and the cold was not as deathly.

The pair continued in quiet stripping off the soaked through layers of clothes. They worked together passing between each other. The interior was surprisingly spacious. They set out their bedrolls; Jaqen allowed himself a small smile as Arya pushed her bedroll next to his. Arya sat down on the rolls bringing some light furs with her, Jaqen sat next to her lying down, propping himself up with his elbows. Arya offered him some salted meat. They chewed in silence sharing a skin of water, Jaqen watched Arya the whole time, and his eyes followed her hands and lips.

'Stop watching me Jaqen'

'I don't know what you mean lovely girl' Jaqen watched her brows furrow

'You were a right bastard earlier'

'I suppose-'

'It was a statement Jaqen' she spat

'A man apologises'

'I don't want a man too, I want you too' Arya said her voice less heated; Jaqen wanted to smile but instead sat up.

He brought her hands to his; they were not soft but rough and calloused from hard work. Jaqen smiled to himself and Arya looked on at him leaning closer until she was almost sitting on his lap.

Jaqen played with her hands murmuring in Lysenese. The moment was interrupted by the crash of thunder accompanied with then horse's manic cries, but Jaqen didn't hear a thing.

He lost himself. Not like how he lost himself by becoming one of the faceless men, that transition he could not even remember. That made his real self-feel dead.

He had been reborn as Jaqen H'ghar but he wasn't losing his identity, he was losing his control and logical thought. Somehow it made him want to smile; he was losing himself in Arya. To hell with rationality.

Jaqen guided Ayra's hands to his shoulders, pulling her onto his lap. Arya's arms wound round his neck, and their foreheads grazed against each other.

The light was minimal and a blue hue surrounded the pair as lightening flashed electric blue.

Jaqen noted the storm and his mind travelled back to Bravos as his hands skimmed over Arya's body. Bravos had storms like no other; tempests were a drunken mess of hot rain and cracks of lightening. The sky burned red and blue as hot pellets of water bounced off the dry city. Thunder sang and naked children swam in the humid air, the clouds roiled spilling over their very world.

Jaqen could feel the heat as he skimmed his nose across Arya's cheek. She was now straddling him her breath was hot and ragged on his face.

'I'm sorry for being a craven and a bastard' Jaqen murmured. Hot rain soaked his skin. Jaqen's hand twisted into her hair. People laughed and screamed in summer storms. Jaqen lost himself. Thunder wailed and lightning danced. Jaqen slipped and fell into bliss.

Then the lightning tore at his skin and the water turned to cold dead ash.

Arya tore away, scrambling from Jaqen, his mind cleared.

The fog rose and Jaqen heard the storm roll on, but not the storms of hot Braavosi but the cold harsh wails of winter. Arya's face was a mask of horror and confusion, Jaqen's was much the same.

Stupidity overwhelmed him, he was a faceless man, and yet he was acting like a green boy on the first fields of war.

It took a while for Jaqen to realise no mask could change what he had done, and still Jaqen asked what he had done. There was no escape in the enclosed space, the cold was stronger than ever and it was Arya who recovered quickest.

She turned passive bringing the furs to the bedrolls and lying down. The winds howled a while longer until Jaqen composed himself moving to Arya's side. The heat that had consumed him not so long ago now felt like ice piercing his chest.

Arya was nothing but a Stark in that moment. Her face was carved like ice her eyes grey like the cold, her fury white like the ancient weir woods.

Jaqen slipped next to her encircling his arms round her small frame to ensure heat. He winced inside as Arya tensed.

The pair closed their eyes and listened to the raging storm thinking of anything but… what happened.

Arya didn't dream and Jaqen didn't smirk. The morning brought ice. Jaqen was a craven and he knew it, he knew as soon as he talked to Arya as if the night before was a dream. He knew Arya thought herself a craven as she answered with equal indifference. Their usual banter wasn't strained and smiles flowed with ease. No difference was had in their routine, except Jaqen didn't stare and Arya didn't put light touches to his arms or hair.

The rain had washed the snow to slush but left deadly ice and the horses made their protests loud and clear. Once they were packed the duo decided they would reach the inn on foot. Walking with the horses they continued on, chewing salted meat which tasted like ash.

The going was slow but the wind was a mere whisper, they spoke in Braavosi for comfort. Their talk was that of childhoods, Arya spoke with passion about her family.

'It was so large, all fourteen of us'

'Fourteen lovely girl?'

'You have to count our…um' Arya stopped walking her face scrunched in concentration. Jaqen was about to question her motives for stopping before

'I don't know the word Jaqen' she still spoke in Braavosi but Jaqen answered with her common tongue

'Word for what lovely girl' Arya opened her mouth her face a mess of hurt and self-loathing.

'Dire wolf' she whispered 'I don't know dire wolf'

'There is no such word in Braavosi' Jaqen too had come to a halt 'there were never such creatures in the hot Braavosi lands, they are unknown beasts there, dire wolves are creatures of the north, beyond the wall and men'

'Oh'

Snow fall began again and they trekked on Arya stopped talk of her family and dire wolves were forgotten. Instead she told stories, still she lost the passion in her telling and Jaqen lost his wish to converse.

They finally came to their village, the horses spooked, dead bodies lay on the ground. The smell suggested they had been dead a long time but the cold said otherwise. The town was half rebuilt and their eye was instantly drawn to a large hanging post. There was nothing left of the body but above its skull carved the words _lord Tarly a craven to the end killed on order of rulers of Westeros your… _The wood it was carved on suffered rot, and what they assumed was the name of the murderer was lost.

Jaqen disliked having the horse's noise but disliked even more the prospect of having them taken and walking to kings landing. As they were told an inn was located in the desolate town, but its interior had a glow which suggested inhabitants.

They were cautious leading up to the inn keep, a rusted knocker hung from the door. The noise resounded and silence fell as whatever chatter inside stopped. Arya took hold of Jaqen's arm.

Suddenly the door flung open and Jaqen was dragged inside and pinned against a wall, his arms protecting Arya, she thought differently and her knife was at the assailant's throat.

'You better put that down little bitch' the attacker threatened

'Leave it kayl' the man was pushed away and Arya lowered the knife pushing to be by Jaqen's side.

Another man then stepped towards them, he wore a long yellow coat, it was faded but Arya knew who he was.

'Lem what are you doing just kill them' Lem ignored the shout from the previous man

'Who do you support' Arya wanted to reveal her identity but Jaqen stepped in

'We are from the free cities I am afraid we support no one' his voice was sincere but Arya knew better

'And the girl' Lem said beckoning to Arya

'A mute she is my wife, we are simply travellers' Arya felt the need to protest but knew she could not, instead she gritted her teeth and seethed silently.

'So what we doing with 'em Lem' another asked. With a quick glance around Jaqen saw over twenty men, mismatched and ragged, but carrying weapons.

'We'll take them to the lady' the first man stepped forward

'Why not just kill him' he sneered at Arya 'I suppose we could keep the bitch though' Jaqen felt Arya's anger boil and moved to face the man

'You will do no such thing' the menace in Jaqen almost scared Arya. almost. The tension rose and some raised themselves from their seats.

Finally Lem made the decision 'we are the brotherhood without banners and were taking them to Lady Catelyn Stark, that's final' Arya felt like someone had punched her. Her mother was alive.

'Lock 'em up'

Jaqen and Arya were led to a room stripped of their possessions and locked in. Jaqen held out his arms and Arya embraced him. Together they stood joined together, tears fell from Arya's horrified eyes. Jaqen whispered comforts.

Outside it began to rain, cold pellets of ice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Firstly I feel I should thank everyone who has reviewed and I owe you all more than an apology for the delay. Therefore this chapter is extremely long- at least for my standards. For update information I must say I cannot be certain of any times, I will attempt every fortnight but it is not a promise. It will never go over a month unless there are any issues which I will post on my profile, if it is computer related- I am lost and sorry in advance. I hope you enjoy, truly sorry for the time taken to get this one going. Valar Morghulis. **

Ayra wanted to sleep.

She felt she should be thinking of her mother and yet it was Lem who was brought to the forefront of her tired mind, kind, caring Lem.

She would admit even in the early days his coat hadn't been as bright as the summer's sun but now it seemed even more ragged, the colours faded and worn. But that's what they all were; tired and worn wishing for some peace.

The war was won but peace was far from home. Not that Ayra had a home, she had Jaqen, or at least she thought she had. Her body and mind seemed to be at odds. Despite how much she hated the thought she knew her state was _fragile_.

Earlier she had been _straddling_ Jaqen. How did she react, with horror. It wasn't because she was scared, she had kissed Jaqen, fucked Jaqen even. Maybe they would have if she hadn't pulled back.

Jaqen wasn't like her in many ways but one was that he had lost his true self. Ayra thought herself as still Ayra; stripped of the naivety of youth and other pieces but Ayra Stark of Winterfell somewhat remained. The same Ayra who had punched Robb in the balls for calling her a girl, rode alongside her sigil come to life and basked in the joys of a loving family.

Jaqen had nothing, except for her, which Ayra counted for little. The point was Ayra was no longer a child and she understood what truly happened. As she brushed against his cheek she slipped. Her conscience or self, drifted, she was Jaqen for a moment, and she hated it.

No doubt Jaqen saw her as mad as she hurtled herself away as if burned by a dragon itself.

Fear cuts deeper than swords and this fear enveloped Ayra. Memories of old nans stories about warg's invaded her mind but she brushed it away. Her head cleared when she saw the shame on Jaqen's face, he regretted it. The rejection was a lash to her already scorched skin. The wound was raw, and yet here she was. Somehow she always ended up clinging to Jaqen wishing he felt how she did.

It all crashed down on her.

Ayra wanted to cry some more and shout and hit something so hard it made her knuckles split and bleed. She wanted to rage like the child she never truly got to be. Instead she held onto Jaqen with all her might, the rain was persistent and they stood until Ayra's leg cramped and was forced to move away. Tears had ceased from flowing but Ayra knew Jaqen was waiting for the worst, it was in the tightness of his shoulders and the concern in his eyes, he wasn't expecting Ayra to say 'a mute wife?' her tone was watery but also had a hint of mock annoyance. With a cautious smile Jaqen replied

'Well I needed some way to keep you quiet and I don't think they sell muzzles for women here in Westeros'

'You think a muzzle would stop me?'

'Perhaps some chains too- just to be safe' Ayra smiled standing up tall and feinting superiority

'I mere Jaqen H'ghar am a wolf queen of the north, I descend from a long line of brave warrior starks, no mere…' she sniffed in derision 'mortal can be a match for me, and no muzzle will stop a wolfs bite!' she finished with an upturned nose mimicking what she had seen queen Cersei do on more than one occasion

'And now you are rebuilding your pack' Jaqen said Ayra sensed no sadness in is tone but something in her gut squirmed; her mother was her family, her pack. But her mother was more Tully than Stark, from her auburn curls to her intense hate for Jon.

'You're my pack Jaqen' Ayra measured his reaction, already she was falling back, wanting Jaqen. She was being a child purposely ignoring the fact she knew Jaqen felt nothing but a circumstantial bond.

'A pack of two is not so impressive' he gave away nothing.

'Well dire wolves are no typical docile dog'

'May I remind you I am not a dire wolf?'

'You are an honorary dire wolf from here on then' she forgot the pain Jaqen always inflicted on her.

'I don't think you're allowed to do that lovely girl' Ayra bubbled at the pet name

'Well I shall, the next Weirwood and I will make you a Stark' Ayra smiled and rejoiced in the smile Jaqen slipped in return

'Ayra are you asking to marry me' Ayra knew she should have been shocked at the assumption, but that is what she had asked. On realization she should have flushed and retook the offer with humble embarrassment instead she jumped into his arms.

'Jaqen H'ghar – will you become my sweet betrothed?' Jaqen was shocked. Possibly the most shocked in his life, Ayra read it plainly in his face. Already he was rearing in a way to reject the offer. Ayra butted in before he could ultimately decline 'no, it's not a question it's a statement we will be wed at the next Weirwood, I shall seal the deal with a gesture' with that she kissed Jaqen chastely on the lips, as if he were a brother and not a yearned for lover. She would regret it.

It was a settled matter, one of which Ayra made very clear.

Their confines consisted of two fairly standard beds with hay protruding from the seams, Ayra longed for Winterfell. It was beyond basic but seemingly comfortable enough. It was no surprise to Jaqen when Arya climbed into his bed with him. She smiled to herself as she curled around Jaqen; their bed was too small to lie apart. Warmth filled Ayra, a giddiness which made her only hug closer to Jaqen. It was dangerous and brilliant, Ayra loved it.

They had been pushing as those barriers for so long, slowly stretching them. Ayra dreaded the day they would snatch back.

Ayra had felt pain; emotionally and physically. At the age of seven she was riding with her brothers when the horse spooked and she was thrown down an overhang. She was cursed to a deep slumber for two moons and apparently Robb and Jon had been awake for half of that. Guilt had plagued the pair but Arya loved them still. There was no need to struggle for an emotional situation where Ayra had felt her heart being ripped out, there were so many occasions; her father's death, her brother's death, her abandonment of Nymeria, her ignorance, her unrequited admiration for Jaqen and all the guilt and shame which leavened her down every day. Ayra shifted uneasily.

Suddenly the arms enclosing her were a harsh reminder of all she had lost; the suffering was branded into her skin. Now that skin crawled knowing she could smile after so much pain.

Her boldness she now realised was immaturity, she pawned after this man, wishing for a future. But she was wishing on dust and dirt.

Jaqen's breath was levelled behind her, his breath tickled the shell of her ear and his heart softly beat against her chest. Now each thrum was a stark warning of how stupid she was. Her breathing constricted. Ayra pulled away and Jaqen was alert at once.

Ayra could only imagine the sight he found. Ayra's eyes were wide and wild. Her face stricken and her whole demeanour screaming for escape. It was with her body facing Jaqen she backed to the other bed. He attempted to follow to which he received a guttural stay away.

The confusion from Jaqen was palpable. It was then that Ayra retreated to the lonely confines of the separate bed, cowering in the corner. Wishing to cry but knowing every tear was another sign of how selfish she truly was.

Morning came as it did every other day, from when the children of the forest ran free and the first men appeared. Morning rose, budding open to reveal low grey clouds laced with mist. Snow didn't fall but ice coated the ground. Their captors were not unfriendly but Ayra did not savour the raunchy looks sent her way by Kayl. He was the one which liked to guard the prisoners but it was truly an excuse for him to leer at Ayra.

It was with grudging annoyance Ayra had to admit despite his disgusting personality he had a fair face. His hair was gold, not of a pure Lannisters standard but Ayra knew the lack of sexual morals within their breed. No doubt the Lannisters brood could almost match the amount of bastards from King Robert Baratheon. And that was something.

His eyes were blue but the slant of his nose had a regal tilt. Besides from that he was an absolute dick.

Jaqen had been hesitant, something which Ayra felt he was justified to be, she had essentially flipped out twice on him. However, as always, their highly functional method of ignoring a problem kicked in and they talked as if the winds had not stirred the air into an insane frenzy.

Not everything could be solved through closing your eyes though and Ayra missed the heat that would spread through her when Jaqen got close. Now she only pictured the disgust on Jaqen's face. Their captors refused to say where they were heading but she could only doubt that the brotherhood had been welcomed into the new society.

They avoided the kings road, Lem was the obvious leader and it took a fair amount of shock for Ayra to realise she had changed beyond simply growing breasts. Emotionally she had become more mature but she wondered if even her mother would recognise her.

From the mere scraggly tomboy to what she had become then was a far cry off.

It was not long till resentment of Jaqen's cover story seeped through the bones. Every one of Kayl's crude jests was unanswered by Ayra but the coldness from Jaqen seemed to restrict him somewhat. Being a mute was boring, it was with great pleasure she ranted to Jaqen once out of earshot. She ignored the concerned looks he hid beneath a mask of playful listening. They spent their days riding unless the ground was too icy; a fatality of a horse was a grave loss indeed.

Wolfe was a fine bred horse and Lem took it upon himself to take Ayra's prized mare, it bartered a few uneasy questions which Jaqen deflected with a skilled tongue.

It was a few weeks hard days ride and all were weary. The passage had been slowed by the route avoiding all main roads. The sign which showed they were nearing was the two riders sent ahead, the group had a quick debate as to blindfold them or not. They decided not. Ayra decided to not evaluate whether this was because they thought the pair to be trusted or that they trusted dead men could not speak. To dither on it would be a fool's farce.

A rough cut pathway soon emerged from the brush; tall trees encased the land sending a shadow over the passage. Ayra and Jaqen were made to walk and they carefully led the horses occasionally slipping on the ice.

There was something dark and foreboding about the way, even Kayl who they had soon come to realise had something to say on everything fell silent. The first signs of smoke showed inhabitants and two men layered in furs came to greet the party. Their words were whispered; the trees rendered a strong barrier to the wind so they could be heard easily. After some more trekking the trees thinned forming a large ring around what Arya could only assume was their campsite.

The hideout was strangely still, tents were pitched everywhere made from furs and branches. A few had scraps of fine material likely to be scavenged from raided campsites. It was not like the kings encampment, filled with raucous laughter; it seemed their world was merely a ghost. The most eerie aspect struck Ayra to her very core, placed in the centre was a Weirwood. Its face had been hacked away its bloodied eyes ran to its roots. A mask of horror was fixed in its place. Ayra skimmed the site again, the forest was white. A graveyard replica of the one in Winterfell; it haunted her.

The Weirwood gaped at Ayra and she couldn't help but stare at its disfigured guise.

Ayra felt someone push her forward lightly and their progression continued. The largest of the tents was placed behind the Weirwood. It rose high and was a mismatched mess of animal skins and material. Ayra envisioned it to be similar to that of a wilding camp.

The tired party started to unwind with people filtering off to the sides, Lem and a few others stayed by the prisoners.

Ayra recognised a few faces but it seemed she was beyond recognition.

'Lady Stone heart will see you' the guard murmured to Lem, Ayra looked to Jaqen for answers. His face was impassive but a dreadful curiosity crinkled his eyes.

Ayra felt the air go stale, it was impossible, but the air inside the tent seemed even colder than the outside. Few furnishings adorned the space but a low throne stood at the far end. Lem and the others gave shallow bows. A woman sat upon the seat. Ayra searched the room for her mother but did not find her.

The figure on the throne was swaddled in black cloth. Ayra's skin prickled and she was tempted to growl, it was like something was dead but had not passed. 'Lady Stoneheart we bring you two prisoners, from the free cities'.

Lem moved closer and a chocking sound issued from her throat. Both Ayra and Jaqen stepped back but then froze.

Lem seemed to answer 'They could be of value, the man seems strong he could be part of the plan, an insider we have to kill-' All jumped except the prisoners as an unearthly howl ripped from the woman.

Lem seemed to quiver; he opened his mouth but was silenced with a black cold hand. More noises followed. Arya felt herself being pushed forward, for a moment she thought they would have to kneel. Lady Stoneheart who Ayra assumed she must be turned to face them.

It was with painful slowness she lifted the material from her face. Ayra felt Jaqen go rigid beside her and she felt bile rise in her throat. What faced her was horrific. Skin was rotted and peeled away. Jagged lines cut across the mangled throat but it was none of the decaying tissue which made Ayra wants to vomit but her hair.

It was red; fire was the only colour which graced the pale monster. The Tully hue was unmistakable. Ayra had been jealous of the colour which all her siblings but Jon shared, on more than one occasion she had pulled at Sansa's red locks in despair.

There was coldness in her gaze and it penetrated her deep. Her mother was beautiful even in growing age but now she was a living corpse. Her eyes were not dead though, they were alive. Tully blue; raging like a storm.

'Mother' Ayra dared to say all eyes shot to her. They burned into her.

'A mute my fucking arse' someone shouted before hands seized her and Jaqen.

'Who are you really, who are you!' another cried.

Suddenly guards were called and Catelyn Stark stood. Ayra panicked

'Mother it's me Ayra, it's me!'

Ayra waited for the spark; though disfigured her mother was her mother. Even if she seemed broken. Ayra waited for her mother's face to break open, youth returning and transforming her face so it was never maimed, she waited for her mother to realise her identity. Ayra would have her mother back.

Instead she morphed into shards of ice, a hole in her throat flapped as she screeched. Rising to her feet with surprising swiftness she advanced; her movement revealed more mottled and sunken flesh.

Ayra was transfixed as she was taken hold of. Suddenly Jaqen was moving, shouting and kicking at the men who held him down.

Only when Jaqen wailed from being punched in the face did Ayra begin to move. Her mother was screeching to an unintelligible volume but one word was clear. _Kill_.

Ayra started to struggle as more men entered someone grabbed around her middle and it was with ease she released herself but even Ayra could not defend d against a storm of twenty men. Now Ayra was screaming for Jaqen.

They were dragged into the snow which had settled from previous nights; then Ayra forgot. She forgot her training, she forgot her mother, and she forgot the hands grappling with her.

All she could see was the dying Weirwood and the one thing she had missed. A thick rope hung from one of the higher branches, it was deathly still-sheltered from the wind. Was her mother going to kill her? Ayra dreaded the answer.

Then Ayra remembered how far she had come, all she had lost and she fought back. Her teeth tore into someone's flesh and yells pounded at her eardrums until the noise was cracked.

'Stop Our Lady says stop' Lem shouted Ayra paused her struggle turning to her mother, finally seeking the recognition she knew would come. There was nothing. After more sounds Lem spoke casting his eyes to Ayra

'That one is to die first'.

Arya saw Jaqen start to pummel his captors but Ayra felt drained. Her own mother could not see her child, it hurt.

The men around her were wary waiting for Ayra to rekindle her hate, to strike and beat and claw at them. It was only when the rope was lowered over her head she kicked. Ayra knew she had lost a lot but she had gained so much.

She had Jaqen, her brothers, a future and so much more. It was a sight to behold as Ayra was wrested to a makeshift platform which had been pushed to add the height. Ayra caught one man's balls and was rebuffed in the ear. Something exploded and a high wine echoed in her eardrum.

Everything was silenced except for the whine.

Dazed her hands were hastily tied and the knot tightened round her neck. Ayra turned her eyes to Jaqen he was half collapsed, still fighting to reach Ayra but weighed down.

His lips moved shouting one thing over and over. It seemed important. He might as well have been screaming at a dead rabbit.

Ayra kept her gaze fixed on Jaqen; if she would die it would be with his face imprinted in her mind. Jaqen H'ghar; the name spoke volumes. It made Ayra smile. The smile fell as everyone turned away, was her death not worthy to watch, Ayra looked to the west in search of an answer.

She was saved.

Horses ploughed through the site, tears blurred her vision but the banner seemed to be a flaming something, either way Ayra knew an attack.

The child inside her feared for her mother but the new Ayra realised she was already long dead.

The men of Lady Stoneheart tried to run, some stayed. The noble ones stayed.

Lady Stoneheart herself faced the fleet and with an ungodly scream pushed the platform.

Ayra was falling. The noose snapped taunt.

The last thing Ayra Stark of Winterfell saw was Jaqen H'ghar, it was lovely.

**A\N Not the end, a long way yet.**


End file.
